


Safe Harbor

by baranduin



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: Angst, M/M, My First Fanfic, Romance, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-15
Updated: 2002-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:25:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baranduin/pseuds/baranduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faramir meets Frodo. Faramir loses Frodo. Faramir finds Frodo again. Or is it the other way around?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Safe

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfic, this started out as a one-off just to see if I could write some pr0n, but then it kept going on. Text in italics in the first chapter are passages taken from The Two Towers.

_"Not if I found it on the highway would I take it."_

* * *

_"I was going to find a way into Mordor," he said faintly. "I was going to Gorgoroth. I must find the Mountain of Fire and cast the thing into the gulf of Doom. Gandalf said so. I do not think I shall ever get there."_

* * *

Frodo stood before me, and I looked at him in astonishment. No. I stared at him caught by a sudden desire to protect his vulnerability. He looked up at me with a silent plea, his wide gaze an arrow into my soul. I caught him as he swayed, picking him up and holding his slight body close in my arms. He pressed his face to my breast, sighed, and lay still.

Turning to Sam, who hovered close by, I said, "Sam, I am going to have Frodo sleep in my chamber tonight. He will be able to rest better there."

Sam looked at me as though he didn't like my plan but said nothing.

"That way you can rest better yourself. You need your strength to watch over him in the days to come."

Sam nodded his acknowledgment and bowed low.

_"Good night, Captain, my lord," he said. "You took the chance, sir."_

"Did I so?"

"Yes, sir, and showed your quality: the very highest."

* * *

I carried Frodo quickly to the back of the cave. His body trembled from the cold and his bone deep weariness. I walked into my small chamber carved out from the cave's rock and lay him gently on the bed. He relaxed gratefully into the fur coverings as I went to the room's opening and drew the leather curtains closed. Two steps brought me to the room's small hearth, and I built up the fire into a crackling blaze. At least I could make sure he was warm for one night.

Turning back to the bed, I saw that he still shivered from the cold. He opened his eyes and looked up at me. I was caught again by his Elvish delicacy; only the furry feet told against it.

"Come, Frodo, let's get you out of your clothes and under the covers. You'll soon be warm enough."

He looked up at me trustingly when I sat on the bed next to him. I smiled back at him, leaning forward and undoing the leaf-shaped clasp that held his cloak together. Pulling the cloak from under his body, I tossed it on the bedside table. Next came his jacket, tunic and shirt. As I removed his shirt, I saw the gleam of silver and understood that he wore a shirt of chain mail underneath. What a poor phrase "chain mail" is to describe the silken garment that lay revealed.

He watched me looking at it wonderingly. Lips curved in a tender smile. "It is a mithril shirt made by the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain. My cousin Bilbo gave it to me when the Company set out from Rivendell. It has saved my life once already. Would that it could have saved Gandalf..." His voice trailed into silence, and the smile faded at the memory of his loss.

"It is marvelous fair, but you will not need its protection tonight," I said to him. I took its hem and drew it up his torso, pulling it off when he raised his arms to help me. My breath caught in my throat as I looked down at his thin chest, the golden ring on a silver chain resting there quietly. I wondered if it burned him. A livid scar slanted across his shoulder, a wound not new and yet not fully healed. I traced the line of the scar with my fingers. Frodo moaned softly, eyes shadowed with remembered pain. His lips trembled, and he wept softly. I stroked his hair, filled with the helpless knowledge that there was little I could do to ease his suffering.

"Get under the covers and warm yourself," I said to him abruptly. He flinched at the sudden harshness in my voice but obeyed me. I stood up and went to the hearth, kneeling to poke at the fire. Now it was my hands that were trembling from some unnamed emotion. I needed to recover my composure. Standing up after a long minute and turning again to the bed, I saw that Frodo had propped himself up, one hand clutching the covers to his chest. He looked at me questioningly through eyelashes wet with tears.

Taking a deep breath, I gentled my voice. "Sleep now. You are safe here tonight."

He sighed and slipped back into the covers, enormous eyes still watching me. I pulled the room's only chair close to the bed, sat on it, put my legs on the bed, and pulled one of the furs over me. I smiled at him and said again, "Sleep. You are safe." Slowly he relaxed, snuggling deeper into the warmth of the covers. I watched his eyelids grow heavy. Finally, he slept.

* * *

I woke in the dead of night. The fire had burned low, leaving the chamber chilled. Frodo was tossing back and forth on the bed, moaning "no no no no no". Leaning over him, I took him gently by the shoulder, saying "You're only dreaming, Frodo Baggins." He startled awake, panting softly. I looked down at him, marveling again at his clear Elvish face. He looked at me and breathed, "I'm cold, Faramir."

I went to the fire and built it up again. Sitting back in the chair, I pulled off my boots and stripped off my tunic. Frodo drew open the covers, moving away from the middle of the bed to make room for me. I crawled in and pulled him to me, his head pillowed on my arm. We lay quietly spooned together under the fur.

I felt myself harden.

I was shamed.

How could I take advantage of his simple trust of me?

Then.

He pressed his small bottom against me.

A fierce joy filled me as I pulled him hard against me. He pressed his face to my bare arm and rubbed his warm soft lips back and forth against the sensitive skin. A sweet fire shot through me as I stroked his thin torso, drawing circles around the velvet nipples with my fingertips. He gasped and wriggled against me. When I raised my head and pressed my lips to his smooth throat, he moaned softly, and I felt the vibrations against my mouth.

"Frodo, I don't want to hurt you."

He turned in my arms and looked up at me with the answer in his brilliant eyes. Twining his frail arms around my neck, he pulled my head down to his. We kissed softly at first, just a taste with closed mouths. Then, mouths opening to each other, I could hold back no longer. I forgot his frailty, his vulnerability, his utter helplessness in my arms. I ravaged his mouth, tongue questing and finding the honey there. Sweetly he accepted me, cherry mouth sucking my tongue deeper and making my senses spin.

He clung to me as I rained kisses on his throat. I ran my hands down his naked back, slipping them into his breeches and cupping his perfectly formed cheeks, squeezing hard. Suddenly his hands were at my trousers, unfastening and pulling them off. I was naked in his arms.

Pulling away from me, he looked at me with languorous eyes, looked at his breeches, and then back up at me. "Take these off," he ordered. I obeyed.

Naked, he lay back against the furs, one knee raised, arms above his head. He was completely open to me. I touched his face, cupping his soft cheek. Blue eyes glowed at me in the light of the fire. Trailing my palm down his face to stroke his neck, I pressed my mouth against dark nipples now budded hard. I took one in my mouth and sucked gently. He shivered from delight, not cold or fear. My hand's journey continued past his waist, brushing the nest of dark hair at the apex of his thighs. Dragging a finger up the ridge of his hardness, my hand found the flushed, swollen head. Liquid pearls gleamed there. Looking up at him, I saw his throat arching his head into the furs. Eyes squeezed shut, bruised mouth whimpered wordlessly.

I took him in my mouth and sucked the honey that flowed from the opening of the rosy head. He pushed hard against my mouth, hands twined in my hair. Cupping his balls in my hand, I swallowed him whole, listening to the groans deep in his throat. He thrust in rhythm with my mouth, tight buttocks clenching and unclenching. His body arched like a bow—he cried out sharply. Spasms shook him as he gushed into my mouth and I tasted each sweet, salty spurt. Breathing heavily, he collapsed back into the bed. I took my mouth away, dropping one kiss on the heart-shaped head, another on his navel, lapping up a stray drop. So good.

I raised myself up on an elbow and surveyed Frodo, half expecting that he would be asleep after his release. His smooth body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. He wasn't asleep. He lay there looking at me, corners of his plump mouth turned up in a smile. His eyes moved down my body and stopped at my hardness. He held his arms out to me and opened his thighs.

"I want to feel you inside me."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"What could you do that would hurt me more than I have already suffered?"

Arms, now strong, pulled me down onto him. We kissed deeply. I pressed my body to him, my roughly haired thighs slipping between his smooth ones, spreading his knees wide. Taking my hardness in my hand, I rubbed back and forth against him, my slickness smoothing the way. When I pushed into him, his muscles resisted briefly before opening to me. He cried out, once.

I gasped, "Do you want me to stop?"

Frodo wrapped his legs around my back and pulled me into him. Driving deeply into his tight heat, I felt him hardening again. Now I couldn't stop even if he wanted me to. Thrusting hard, all I knew was the feel of him: the heat, tight so tight, my climax gathered inside me. Rearing up on my arms, I ground into him as I shot and shot and shot and felt his orgasm splash against my belly.

Slowly, so slowly, I lay back on him. I rolled to one side, slipping out of him, pulling him against me so that we lay entwined side to side. Looking down at him, I dropped soft kisses on his fair face. He looked at me, his tender mouth a tremulous smile.

"How do you feel?" I breathed.

"Safe."


	2. Consequences

They had been walking hard all day, coming closer all the time to the crossroads. Urging them on, Gollum would let them rest for only brief stops.

Frodo looked sideways at Sam. Something was wrong. Usually, Sam was the one who kept their spirits up by chattering inconsequentially, pointing out a coney here, a new plant there. Today he was different: silent, preoccupied. He hadn't been that way before their encounter with Faramir and his troop. Had something happened that he didn't know about?

Dusk was approaching when they stopped and searched out a hidden fold of land. As they made their camp and prepared their meager evening meal, Gollum disappeared for his nightly forage.

After eating, they rolled themselves in their blankets, close together as always for safety and comfort. Sam turned his back to Frodo instead of facing him as he normally did. Frodo looked at his hunched back. He put his hand out and stroked it lightly, feeling Sam flinch at his touch.

"Sam? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm tired. Get some sleep."

"No, there's something wrong. You've been so quiet all day. That's not like you."

"And you think too much, say it as I shouldn't."

Frodo laughed nervously and tried again. "Please tell me what's wrong. Did something happen in Faramir's camp last night?"

Sam turned over quickly and looked at Frodo. Frodo caught his breath at the sight of his friend's gentle eyes staring at him hotly.

"You're angry with me. Why?"

A long minute passed while Frodo watched Sam's chest rising and falling in a jerky rhythm.

Suddenly the words burst out. "I saw you. With him. With that man."

Frodo's eyes widened in shocked surprise. "Oh, Sam," he breathed. "How?"

"Very easy it was. I got up in the middle of the night to check on you--had to see if you were all right so I stood outside that curtain and listened. It was quiet at first, and I was about ready to go back to my bed. Then I heard you cry out. I had to go to you, Mr. Frodo. I thought something was wrong and that you would need your Sam to protect you. I opened the curtain and looked in and saw you with him. You were both naked. He was ... he was on top of you and doing things to you. You looked like you liked it."

They were both sitting up now and watching each other tensely, Sam's eyes accusing and Frodo's embarrassed and ashamed. Frodo didn't know what to say. The hurt in Sam's eyes went to his heart like a knife.

"Sam, do you care for me that way? Why did you never say anything?"

"What would that have gotten me? I'm your gardener, remember."

"And my dearest friend. Sorry--I didn't know. I've hurt you, and I wouldn't have done that for all the world."

"It's a little late for that now, isn't it? Even if I had said something, would you have liked it? Do you care for me that way?"

Frodo looked steadily at Sam--longed to look away.

"Exactly. Go to sleep. I won't speak of it again. And neither shall you."

Sam lay back down, facing Frodo this time. At least that's something, Frodo thought to himself. He sighed and settled himself on the ground. Neither of them spoke again that night, although neither of them slept much.

* * *

The next day was worse. Their lack of sleep made them even more tired than the day before, making Gollum's urgings that much more difficult to bear.

Frodo longed to say something to Sam that would ease his pain--to do something, he didn't know what. It was true; he didn't care for Sam that way. Until that one night with Faramir, he'd never cared for anyone that way, male or female. He'd never even kissed anyone before, much less done what they had done.

His thoughts drifted back to the night he spent with Faramir in that little chamber carved out of the cave's rock. Faramir had stroked his thin body and worshipped him with his mouth. He marveled how it could be that there, in Ithilien, so close to Mordor, he had felt safe and desired in the tall soldier's arms. A warm, liquid feeling gathered in the pit of his stomach at the memory.

Frodo tripped over a tree root. Coming abruptly out of his reverie, he looked guiltily at Sam and smiled apologetically. A bright flush crept up his neck to his fair face. Sam was staring at him with a mixture of anger and hurt. It almost looked like he hated him.

"Not the best place to be woolgathering, is it, Mr. Frodo?" he said, as if he guessed Frodo's thoughts.

Frodo looked at Sam imploringly, mutely begging forgiveness.

"And don't look at me that way! Not with your eyes like that, all soft and sad. Don't you know now what that does to me?"

Frodo lowered his gaze. "I'm sorry, Sam."

* * *

That night they camped near a small stream. Sam bathed in it while Frodo kept watch and set out their evening meal. After they ate, Sam cleaned up after them, and Frodo bathed. As he stood in the stream washing himself, he saw that Sam kept his back to him, careful not to look at him. Normally he would have watched him like a hawk, daring anyone or anything to bother him.

Frodo knew what he must do to make it all right between them. After his night with Faramir, he even knew how to do it. After all, he did love Sam dearly. How could he deny him the one thing that he now knew Sam wanted? There was so little left to either of them and little if anything to look forward to as they drew ever nearer to Mordor.

Wrapping himself in the blanket he had left by the stream, Frodo moved to where Sam already lay rolled in his blanket. Sam lay on his back, eyes shut tight. Frodo knelt by him and reached out one hand, tracing the contours of Sam's plain face, dearer to him than the fairest Elvish features.

Sam's eyes flew open, shocked. Frodo smiled down at him and said, "The water was so cold. Let me lie with you?"

Sam watched, fascinated, as Frodo dropped his blanket, revealing his shivering, naked body. He scrambled to open his blanket to him, and Frodo slid quickly under and pressed himself close as he tucked the blanket around him and pulled the other one on top of them for extra warmth.

"Hold me, Sam, I'm so cold." Sam wrapped his arms around Frodo and rubbed his thin arms with his rough, gardener's hands. Frodo rested his head on Sam's chest and sighed contentedly as he felt his body warm. Sam dropped his hands to his side and lay still. His entire body went stiff with discomfort as he lay there with Frodo's head pillowed on his chest.

Lifting his head, Frodo pressed his lips to the hollow of Sam's throat and slid one hand beneath his shirt. A hoarse cry escaped from Sam's lips.

"Mr. Frodo, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

"But, I thought..."

"You just surprised me yesterday. I was confused. I'm not confused now."

Frodo moved a little apart from Sam and lay on his back. He held his arms up, full lips trembling a little as he smiled.

Sam propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at Frodo, eyes unbelieving. He looked deeply into Frodo's clear eyes and saw nothing but love reflected in their sapphire depths. (In his inexperience, he didn't know that there was no desire in that look.) Slowly--still half unbelieving--he reached out his hand and softly stroked Frodo's face and neck. His touch was so light and gentle that Frodo felt it as a whisper against his skin.

"Do you think it's fair that I'm naked and you've still got all your clothes on?"

Rearing up on his knees, Sam tore his clothes off quickly, so quickly that for a moment Frodo thought he would strangle himself in his shirt.

Laughing, Frodo said, "Sam, you ninny, you're all tangled up. Here, let me help you."

Gentle fingers untangled the twisted shirt as Sam shed his breeches.

"There, that's better," Frodo said softly. "Now we'll have to keep each other warm, won't we?"

Frodo watched as Sam still knelt above him. He looked carefully at his body, familiar yet not familiar since he had never seen him aroused. For a moment his mind's eye saw the body of the tall soldier of Gondor as it had lain pressed to his small one. He repressed the memory, but not quickly enough for Sam's watchful eyes.

"Mr. Frodo? What is it? Have you changed your mind?"

Frodo reached up and rubbed his face against Sam's strong torso for a moment before lying back down. Sam's body trembled convulsively. He lowered himself carefully down over his master's body, his hands holding himself up so that he rested lightly there, one knee between Frodo's pale thighs. Tentatively, he touched his lips to Frodo's, sighing at their sweet fullness. When Frodo didn't pull away, Sam covered his face with light kisses. He pulled away again, lying next to Frodo's side, one hand moving gently over his chest, avoiding only the Ring that lay coiled on its chain. Taking his hand away, he propped himself on his elbow again, eyes hungrily taking in Frodo's slight form.

"I won't break, you know."

Groaning, Sam pulled Frodo into his arms, holding him tightly against his body. Frodo put his arms around Sam's neck, closed his eyes, and held on as the storm finally broke over him. Sam kissed Frodo's mouth again and again, lips opening lips, tongue pushing into him, teeth scraping against teeth in his inexperience. He lowered his head to Frodo's throat, taking it in with great gulps, tongue moving against its smooth softness, sucking hard and leaving red marks.

Sam rolled on top of Frodo, moving between his thighs and rubbing his erection against Frodo's flat belly. Frodo felt Sam's excitement growing and knew that he wanted what he had seen him do with Faramir. He would help him--he could do that much even if he couldn't give him the same response that he'd given Faramir. He slid both hands between their bodies, gripping Sam's hardness and moving it lower so that it pressed against his body's opening.

"Just push, Sam. It's simple."

Sam groaned deeply in his throat as he followed Frodo's instruction. "Oh, I love you, I love you, I love you."

"I love you too." Frodo bit back a cry when Sam pushed into him, pinpricks flaring to a throbbing pain. He wrapped his arms around his neck and spread his legs wider as Sam moved in and out helplessly and muttered incoherent endearments against his neck.

Frodo opened his eyes and looked up at the night sky, teeth gritted against the tearing pain that each sharp thrust brought him. His legs cramped at the effort to remain still and not push away from the hurt that spread in tendrils throughout his body. Sam reached his hands under Frodo's body, catching hold of his buttocks, pulling him even closer and crying out as he spent himself in long spurts. Frodo sighed with relief as the wetness soothed his aching tissues.

Sam moved his hands up around Frodo's back as he settled himself against him happily. Frodo ran his hands up and down his back in a gentle touch. After long minutes, Sam felt Frodo's body shift under his and raised himself up reluctantly.

"Was that all right, Mr. Frodo? Did I do it right?"

"Just right, Sam. Don't you think you should drop the 'Mr.'?"

Sam blushed and smiled shyly. "I reckon so." He dropped a quick kiss on Frodo's smiling mouth. Moving away from his body, he turned him so that he lay with his back to him and pulled him into his close embrace. He stroked Frodo's chest with loving fingers and settled his arm possessively around his waist with a contented sigh. After a few minutes, Frodo knew from his breathing that he slept.

* * *

In the middle of the night, Frodo lay awake. Sam's steady heart beat against his back. Slow tears dripped down his face as his chin and lower lip trembled. He made no sound.


	3. A Promise Kept

I wake as he stirs in his sleep next to me. Leaning over him--I don't want to wake him--I tuck the blanket back around his shoulders and watch him sleep.

His cheeks aren't round like they were before the Ring came into our lives and changed everything. They're sunken, and his cheekbones stick out. It's all the running and not knowing where it's safe to stop that's done that--and those devils that came at him at Weathertop.

I always thought his skin was too pale, more like an elf than a hobbit to my way of thinking. Sometimes when I look at him now, it's like I can see through his skin. It doesn't look right even though Elrond got the poison out of him in Rivendell. He always looks a little sick these days. I try to keep him fed and warm, but it's hard and getting harder every day.

He's moaning, always does that when he sleeps. I stroke his damp forehead, and he's quiet again.

I love him. I've always loved him--always been there to look after him. I just didn't know how much until I saw him with Faramir. At first I thought Faramir was raping him. I would have killed him for doing that even if it had been the last thing I ever did. Then I heard him moaning and saw him pulling at Faramir with his arms and legs, not pushing him away. I felt sick.

I wasn't going to say anything to him. How could I when we'd never been more than friends? He knows me too well, knew something was wrong even though I tried to hide it. Shocked him right through, it did, when he got it out of me. He didn't know what to say.

It came right last night. I'm still pinching myself that it wasn't a dream. So many times, I'd thought of what it would be like to touch him like that. Oh, but when he came to me last night shivering from the cold, he lay himself close to me and kissed my neck. My heart beat so fast I thought it would burst. I could barely touch him at first, I was that afraid it would all break apart and go wrong again. But it didn't. I wanted ... oh, I wanted to do what I had seen Faramir do to him. When he opened his thighs and let me come in to him, I thought I would faint from the heat and tightness.

He's still asleep. Even with his face so thin and pinched, he's beautiful to me. More beautiful--it's like the thinner he gets, the more his goodness shines through.

There's tears dried on his face. I didn't see that before. Maybe I hurt him last night. I tried not to hurt him, and he said I did it right. Or maybe he woke from a bad dream--and me not awake to comfort him! That's hard.

I've got to wake him. We have to be moving, and I can hear Gollum creeping around. I know he hates moving during the day, that's just too bad. Anyway, he can't complain with the air all brown and dirty, not like daylight at all. Must be a storm coming.

I kiss the tearstains, and he opens his eyes. They go all wide for a moment, and his body stiffens. He stares at me, frightened.

"It's all right--time to get up."

I lay his head on my chest and stroke his hair until I feel him relaxing. It's no good laying about as much I want to stay here this way with him.

"Rest while I get breakfast. Gollum! Get us some water, and be quick about it. We've got to get going. Where've you been all night?"

"Smeagol has to find his food while hobbitses sleep. Smeagol can't eat nassty man food. Are hobbits rested?"

"Never you mind. Just go get that water."

Ugh. His mouth still has crumbs of dirt and who knows what else from his nightly hunt.

Looking down at myself as I get up, I see a little dried blood on my penis. Oh, that's bad, I did hurt him and he never complained.

He's still lying there with his eyes closed. He looks even paler than he did yesterday. That's my fault. I'll be more careful from now on and not touch him if I think he's too tired. What am I saying, he's always tired. The closer we get to Mordor, the more tired he gets. The Ring weighs on him more every day. I'd carry it for him if he'd let me, but I don't think he'd do that. I saw how angry he got that time at Caradhras when it fell off and Boromir picked it up. He snatched it out of Boromir's hands quick as lightning.

I'll be more careful with him from now on. I'm tired, too, but I don't have that Ring pulling at my neck all the time.

"Time to get up. Here's your breakfast."

"All right. Thank you."

He stumbles as he gets up. It looks like he's hurting.

"Oh, that's bad. I shouldn't have touched you last night. It was too much for you, and me so clumsy. I made you bleed, didn't I? Why didn't you say anything? I would have stopped if you'd said something."

"No, Sam, I'm fine, just a little stiff. It's not like you forced me. After all, I started it, didn't I?"

"Stay there a minute. I'll get water and wash you--wish I had something to soothe you better than water."

"It's all right. I'll do it."

He smiles and kisses me. He's never done that before, just leaned over and kissed me on the mouth like that. It makes me feel all melting inside. Maybe tonight he won't be so tired. Watch it, Samwise Gamgee. Here you were just saying you'd be more careful with him, and now you're already thinking about the next time you can have him even though you know you hurt him. You've got to remember what we're here for and keep the lovemaking for after we're done. I'll never stop touching him once we're done. I'll do it right then and not hurt him again.

* * *

He's more than tired. He's exhausted. Getting past Minas Morgul was the hardest part yet. I had to stop him from running straight to it--straight to those devils.

His shoulder hurts him. I can tell though he doesn't say anything, just lies there with his head in my lap where it belongs.

"Get some sleep. We've a long way to climb tomorrow."

I watched him today as we walked in that weird light. He was so quiet though he's never been one for much talking.

I saw that look on his face again, the same one I saw yesterday. His face went all dreamy then, like he was remembering something and liked it. It cut right through me, knowing he was thinking of Faramir and what they'd done. What was he thinking of today? Was he thinking of me or ...

I can't put it right in my head how it could have happened. He'd never been that way with anyone before--I would have known. What was it that made him want to be with Faramir? I know he felt safe with him, we both did--not like with that brother of his. But, how could it have happened just like that? It's not like he'll ever see him again, and anyway, they're so different from each other. It doesn't fit. I can't make sense out of it.

He was so quiet when I made love to him. His arms were around my neck, but that was it. He didn't pull at me the way I saw him pulling at Faramir. He didn't moan the way he did with him--wasn't hard the way I was. He said I did it right, but shouldn't he have been hard too? I didn't think of that last night. All I knew was how he felt in my arms. I didn't dream it didn't feel good to him too, never dreamed I was hurting him.

He brushes his hand against my cheek, wiping away tears I didn't know were falling.

"I'm sorry, Sam."

I can't look at him.

"Why'd you do it if you didn't want me?"

"I wanted to make things right between us."

"But you did want to be with him? See, I just need to get this right in my head."

I'm looking at him now. He flinches at what he sees in my eyes and looks away, shaking his head.

"Tell me. I don't understand how it happened just like that."

"I don't understand either. It just happened. Yes, I wanted him."

"You liked it?"

"Yes."

"Did he hurt you?"

"No."

"And now? Look at me. You still want him, don't you?"

His eyes are clear as he looks straight into my eyes.

"Yes, I still want him. I'll never see him again. And I still want him."

"So it happened just like that, with some man you'd never laid eyes on before. And here I've been hoping like a fool all these years that some day you'd see me that way."

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Too late. Don't worry, I'll not bother you again."

I sit quiet for a long time.

"Do you remember Mr. Bilbo's birthday party and how you kept pushing me at Rosie to dance? What I really wanted to do was just sit and watch you. That was the last time before the Ring--before it started working on you. I'd give anything to have that time back again, to have you the way you were then. With your eyes all dancing and full of fun. Not like you are now.

"I saw how it started working on you when we left Hobbiton, how you started getting frightened of everything. The rest of us didn't feel it like that--how could we, we weren't the ones they were after--but I saw how it was with you. I would have done anything to keep you safe from those Black Riders. I couldn't do that at Weathertop, they just knocked me aside like I was nothing and got at you.

"Then, somehow, we got to Rivendell and Elrond healed you. I know you wanted to go home then, you wanted to lay it aside. But you didn't. All those fine men and elves and dwarves--none of them stepped up to take it. You did, even knowing what it would do to you by then. I know you would have taken it all by yourself, gone on alone--not that I would have let that happen. I never saw a braver thing than when you said you'd take it.

"You did try to go alone when we got to the falls--tried to leave without even your Sam to go with you though I know why you did it. Even if you had got away from me, I would have gone after you. Don't you know that? That hurt.

"But nothing hurt like seeing you with Faramir. It knocked the breath out me."

"Sam, you don't have to ..."

"Yes, I do, and you have to listen. You owe me that much. I've never asked anything from you other than to go along with you and take care of you. Never thought there could be any more between us even though I wanted it. I used to lie awake at night dreaming of it. Must be why I didn't realize it wasn't real when you came to me last night. My head's been so full of you all these years that I never thought you'd not mean it, just do it to make me feel better.

"Don't know why I thought you meant it, considering you'd just been with him and were still dreaming of him. Still are, aren't you?

"It doesn't matter. It's not important now. We've got to go on and get this thing done. Maybe there'll be time later, but not now."

"I do love you, Sam."

"I know you do, and I love you even though you've ripped my heart right out."

"What do we do?"

"Nothing. Just keep on. I'll not leave you, whether or no you feel the same about me as I do you. I made a promise that I'd go with you and keep you safe. I'll keep that promise even if I have to carry you up Mount Doom on my back.

"Lay your head back in my lap and get some sleep. It's a hard climb we've got in a few hours, and you need your strength."

"You'd still do that for me after what I've done?"

"What else would you have me do? I've got to try to sleep too--how could I do that if I couldn't have your head in my lap so I know where you are? You've got your job, and you need your strength to do it. Just lay your head down, and let your Sam do his job."

I don't sleep. I sit there for hours watching him, stroking his head when he moans in his sleep. I'll keep my promise.


	4. The Houses of Healing

Faramir wakes in a sweat. Bolting upright, soft pillows yield to his hands. Laying back, he pants softly, racing heart slowing as his panic subsides. He has been inside the nightmare again.

_He lies on the field of Pelennor struck down by the Nazgul's dart. The Witch King approaches him with sword drawn to finish what the dart has begun. Something distracts him, and he turns away. Raising his head, Faramir sees Frodo on his knees before the wraith, hands raised to ward off a blow. No! Pain sparks hot from his wound as he crawls toward them, inching forward with sweat dripping down his face. Staggering to his feet, he lurches the last few yards to where the two face each other. Frodo looks at Faramir hopelessly, the light of his brilliant blue eyes dimmed to a milky gray. The flesh of his neck is raw and bleeding under the chain that holds the Ring. The Ring is pressed into his chest, a brand mark that still has the iron embedded in it. With his last strength, Faramir hurls himself at the wraith. The wraith turns toward him again, and a wave of poison breath blasts him. Eyes rolling up in his head, Faramir falls into darkness--the Witch King bearing down on Frodo his last sight._

Faramir breathes in jerky gasps, eyes fixed on the wall until his body's trembling quiets. It did not happen that way. Frodo had not been there. He is still alive, must still be alive. The dream is but his fear briefly brought to the surface.

Where is he? Has he found his way into Mordor? Was he even now drawing close to Orodruin, his task near completion? Or has he been captured?

Faramir presses clenched fists into his eyes, willing away the vision of gentle Frodo being tormented in some dungeon of the Dark Lord. Surely that cannot have happened. Otherwise, the darkness would have returned, covering the land once more in its implacable grip.

He should have gone with him. Even if he could not have saved him, he should have gone with him into the fires of Mordor. Doing that would have meant abandoning his duty to Gondor and his men. He could not have gone without betraying his honor even though his heart yearned for it.

Sighing, Faramir thinks on the night he spent with Frodo at Henneth Annun. His heart had reached out to him in pity and admiration at how he bore the burden of his hopeless task.

Frodo's hands grip his back again as they lie together in the soft furs. Warmth pools in Faramir's belly as he buries himself deep inside Frodo and groans from the close embrace of flesh.

Shaking his head, Faramir marvels at the strength of his hunger for the slim hobbit. He still wants him ... wants to be with him again and again ... needs to know all his thoughts ... longs to keep him from harm. A fire had been lit in him in one night that will not easily be put out.

Faramir's body shakes from the returning fever. He does not hear the soft approach of the Warden and starts when he feels his hand on his brow.

"Drink this, my Lord. It will help you sleep and draw out the fever."

"I don't want to sleep. The nightmares ... "

"They will fade in time until you no longer remember them. Drink."

Faramir opens his mouth, and the sleeping draught slips down his throat leaving behind a faint bitterness on his lips.

He struggles at first against the draught, head spinning as it pulls him toward oblivion. It is too strong for him, and he sinks under the weight of it, eyes fluttering shut.

* * *

Faramir stands upon the walls of Minas Tirith looking out over the field of Pellenor. It is seven days since the Lords of the West rode away to contest the might of Mordor. A cold wind blows--the only sound as the City lies poised for the end.

Faramir's heart quails as darkness rises up over the distant Mountains of Shadow and a tremor shakes the earth. He lowers his head in grief. Oh, Frodo, may the end have come quickly for you. Farewell.

Raising tear-clouded eyes, Faramir sees the darkness blow away as though it had been but an insubstantial wisp of cloud. In the distance, a speck approaches--a great Eagle bringing tidings to the City.

__

Sing now, ye people of the Tower of Anor,  
For the realm of Sauron is ended for ever,  
and the Dark Tower is thrown down.  
(The Return of the King)

Faramir paces back and forth, grief turned to joy--laughter alternating with tears. He has done it. Beyond hope, Frodo has done it.

* * *

In the days that follow, Faramir takes up his duties as Steward. He bids goodbye to Merry, who goes to the Field of Cormallen to join the reunited fellowship.

Frodo is alive. The news sings in Faramir's heart in a constant note that sounds to his every action and thought. Even word of Frodo's grievous injury cannot still the joy that fills him.

He will go to him. His new duties claim him, but for once he will follow where his heart leads him.

He does not know how Frodo will greet him. Perhaps he regrets the night they spent together. Or perhaps it had been but a brief interlude of comfort in his desperate journey--something to be remembered fondly but not repeated. After all, it was just chance meeting that brought them together. Also, there is Sam to consider. His devotion to his master was clear, but there may be more to it than that.

Faramir shakes these thoughts from his head. He prepares for his journey, choosing such things he thinks might please Frodo--soft garments, wine to delight the tongue, scented oil to soothe the body.

He looks down at the outspread offerings and laughs at his eagerness. I am like a maiden all trembling with first love, he thinks ruefully to himself.

* * *

Faramir approaches the green lawn at the Field of Cormallen. He sees Sam across the expanse and walks toward him.

"Hello, Master Samwise. We meet where we never thought to come."

"So we do, Captain, sir."

"Where is your master? I want to see him."

"Resting in our tent."

"Is he well?"

"Better--still spends most of his time resting and sleeping."

"May I see him?"

"Stay here. I'll tell him."

Faramir watches Sam walk to a tent and disappear inside. He moves toward it, then stops and holds himself still, damp palms pressed to his sides.

A long minute passes--an eternity. Frodo doesn't want to see him--doesn't want to be reminded of what they had done together. Faramir has been a fool to think otherwise. Sighing, he prepares to walk away.

The tent opens, and he's there.


	5. Heart's Home

"Mr. Frodo, there's someone come to see you from Minas Tirith."

Frodo stirred on the soft bed where he had been resting. Though strength and health were returning to him, he spent hours each day sleeping or lying quietly, savoring the sweet air of Ithilien and the blessed absence of fear.

Smiling at Sam, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. Sam had an odd look in his eyes that Frodo could not read.

"Who is it? I don't know anyone from there."

"Well, then, the sooner you get up and go see, the sooner you'll find out, won't you?"

"All right," Frodo grumbled. "You are mysterious."

Sam grabbed Frodo's hand as he walked past him. Frodo looked at him in surprise--it had been many days since Sam had done that willingly. Always, even among the joyous celebrations at the Field of Cormallen, there lay the strain of Sam's unreturned love between them. Grateful tears started in his eyes at the simple gesture of friendship.

"Go on." Sam pushed him toward the opening of the tent.

With a few steps, Frodo stood at the tent's opening and looked out onto the green lawn. Many bright tents sheltering the victorious Lords of the West were pitched there, his tent among them. It still surprised and humbled him that they did him such honor. But now, as he stood there blinking a little in the sunlight, he had no eyes for the tents or their inhabitants.

A tall figure approached him from across the lawn. The last time he had seen him, he had been clad in the green of a ranger of Ithilien. Today the man wore the more formal attire befitting the house of the Steward of Gondor.

Frodo grew a little dizzy as Faramir stopped a few paces in front of him and looked at him gravely. Returning the look for a moment, Frodo turned back questioningly to Sam.

"It's all right, Mr. Frodo. It's as it should be. Remember, there's Rosie waiting for me back in the Shire."

"Truly, Sam?"

"Yes." Sam smiled. It was almost true for Sam and would be once he was home again where he belonged. He believed that with all his heart.

* * *

Frodo turned back to Faramir and walked toward him. Gray Numenorean eyes watched him tenderly. Surveying Frodo for changes in body and soul, Faramir's eyes lingered over the delicate features of his fair face. The alabaster skin was tinted pale rose at his too-hollow cheeks. Looking at the full lips, he remembered kissing their vulnerable corners. Wide blue eyes he had thought never to see again smiled at him without fear or pain or weariness--only joy.

His gaze moved down Frodo's body and stopped at his maimed hand. Dropping to his knees, he cradled the small hand in his large ones.

"Does it pain you much?"

"Some, but it has healed more quickly than I thought possible. Aragorn's skill as a healer is great."

"He healed me, too. I was wounded when my men and I were set upon by the Nazgul as we retreated from Osgiliath to Minas Tirith. Aragorn's voice called me back from the fevered dream in which I wandered."

"I did not know. You are recovered?"

"Yes. Walk with me?"

Frodo nodded. Faramir stood up, and they moved away from the densely populated lawn into the woods that surrounded it.

* * *

Wandering a winding path through the summer woods, they talked a little, content to be in each other's company.

"We are near Henneth Annun. Do you remember it?" asked Faramir softly.

"It is familiar, but my memory is still not good for details."

"Do you remember the night we spent together?"

Frodo ducked his head and flushed, the rosy glow matching his cheeks. "Near the end, it was the only good thing I held in my mind."

They stepped into a quiet glade by a small stream. The sounds from the camp had faded, and all was silent except for the sound of the stream as it flowed around a stony outcrop in its midst. Faramir sat on a large rock that lay half-buried at the edge of the stream and held his hand out to Frodo.

Placing his trembling hand in Faramir's, Frodo sat down on his lap. Wrapping his arms about his waist, Faramir pulled Frodo close and rested his cheek on top of his head. Frodo closed his eyes with a contented sigh.

Their breathing synchronized, they rested quietly. Faramir moved his hand up Frodo's lithe back and cupped the back of his head. Laying back in this new embrace, Frodo smiled up at him. Faramir touched his fingers to his lips, tracing their soft roundness before lowering his head to the hobbit's Elvish face. He brushed his lips back and forth with a slight friction. Frodo, grown impatient, turned the light brushing into a kiss. He put his arms around Faramir's neck and strained upward, gasping at the rediscovered sweetness. As their kiss deepened, their mouths opened to each other and their tongues met, tasting each other.

Frodo put his mouth to the hollow of Faramir's throat and felt his lover's quickened pulse. Trailing the back of his fingers down his face, he delighted in the slightly rough sensation of the man's skin that was so different from his own smoothness.

Standing up with Frodo still clasped in his arms, Faramir knelt in the springy grass that bordered the stream. Spreading his cloak on the ground, he laid Frodo on it and curved his body around him.

"I heard what you and Sam said at the tent. I don't want to come between you."

"You did that already at Henneth Annun--we did that. It wasn't you alone. He saw us together that night. I didn't realize he cared for me that way until after we had left you and he had changed toward me. He was so angry with me. I hurt him terribly."

"What did you do?"

"I tried to fix it. I thought we were going to die--I wanted to make him happy. He was at first, but I couldn't hide how I felt and he knew it. In the end, it was even worse than if I had done nothing."

"You made love with him?"

"Yes."

Faramir rolled on his back and stared up at the sky, jaw clenched. Frodo peered anxiously at him, panic welling up at the sight of his stern profile. Hesitantly, he touched his shoulder.

"Forgive me. I know it was wrong of me, all wrong. I thought I would never see you again. Please look at me."

Slowly, Faramir turned his face to Frodo, eyes closed. Frodo felt as if a band had tightened around his chest as he waited for Faramir's response. Tears spilled down his cheeks, his face crumpled in misery. Rolling away from Faramir, he curled into a tight ball and wept.

"No apologies," Faramir said softly. "You did as you thought best. I do not question your actions. Even if I did, what right do I have? We met only once and never thought that we would see each other again in this world."

Gentle hands pulled at Frodo's shoulders, turning him around. Opening his eyes, Frodo looked into Faramir's face and was surprised to see tears there.

"Are you angry with me?"

"I can't deny that it hurts to know you lay with Sam. I am a jealous man where it concerns you, strange though that is to me. It hurts me even more to know that you suffered from our night together in addition to everything else you endured--to know that I brought you pain."

Frodo's face relaxed.

"No more tears." Faramir stroked Frodo's face, wiping away his tears.

Frodo stole into Faramir's open arms, rubbing his face against his lover's shoulder.   
They pulled at each other's clothes with trembling hands, laughing a little at their impatience. As Frodo tugged at Faramir's trousers, his eyes widened at the sight of his hardening penis.

Faramir caressed his cheek lightly. "Don't worry. I'll be careful."

Laying back, Frodo closed his eyes as he felt the sun on his naked body--Faramir's gaze on him warmed him even more.

Faramir traced the white line of the scar on Frodo's shoulder with his fingers and pressed his mouth firmly to it. Frodo sighed at the touch.

Faramir murmured, "I have a wound of my own. Sometimes I think I can still feel the poison in my veins even though I know Aragorn healed me."

"Show me."

He moved Frodo's hand to the small puckered scar on his chest.

"We were close to Minas Tirith when the Nazgul came and the dart struck me. I would have died on the field had it not been for the charge from the city that Imrahil and Gandalf led."

Frodo looked intently at the scar that was so akin to his own and kissed it gently.

"Tell me when it troubles you."

"And you as well--when the shadows press close."

Faramir pulled Frodo into his arms and held him tightly for a moment. Gripping his thin arms, he pushed him onto his back. Frodo's breath shortened as Faramir rubbed his face against his chest, nipples hardening at the scratchy friction. He squirmed on the cloak when Faramir's mouth fastened on one stiff nipple and sucked hard. The feel of the warm tongue went straight to his groin, his hardening penis jerking against his belly.

Faramir groaned into Frodo's throat, nipping at the tender flesh. "I can't wait any more."

Frodo eagerly opened his thighs. His eyes flew open as Faramir's mouth closed over his body's small opening and his tongue pushed into him. Faint from the feel of it circling inside him, Frodo's eyes rolled back in his head and then closed again--thick lashes feathered against his cheek, face lightly beaded with sweat, mouth working.

"Faramir ... please ... I can't ... I ..."

Frodo twisted as long fingers took the place of the mouth now moving higher.

"No ... please ... no ..."

"Do you want me to stop?" Faramir drew his mouth and fingers away from Frodo.

"Oh, no ... don't stop ... oh ..."

"Tell me."

"Please ..."

"Please what?"

"In me ... come in me ... now ..."

Faramir lay between Frodo's thighs and trembled as he pushed himself into damp heat. Frodo cried out from the sharp penetration.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No, don't stop ... don't ever stop ..."

Faramir quickly covered Frodo's mouth with his own, turning his cry of pain into a moan of pleasure. He slowly pressed his full length into him and then lay still, hands pulling small buttocks to him. Breathing hard from the thick penetration, Frodo's hands gripped Faramir's back. Faramir withdrew and then thrust again. And again.

"Did he do it to you like this? Did you like it?"

"No ... no ... I wanted you. I always just wanted you."

"You have me now. I'll not leave you again."

Frodo moved in a quickening rhythm with Faramir, crying out with each thrust. His head tossed back and forth restlessly, his arms spread wide, hands clutching at the cloak, body arching. Their rhythm grew ragged. With a final deep thrust, Faramir toppled over the edge. As his seed spurted, Frodo ejaculated against Faramir's belly. They ground against each other, savoring the last drop of pleasure. Their urgent motion slowed into a sweet stillness as they panted from their exertion.

Bodies still joined, Faramir rolled them over so that Frodo lay on top of him. He drew a corner of the cloak around them to keep the evening chill from Frodo's tender body. They lay together quietly, breathing in the sharp scent of their lovemaking.

* * *

In the deep of the night, they lay together drowsily in Faramir's tent. Faramir rocked Frodo in his arms.

"Nothing will ever hurt you again."


	6. On Top

I'm warm. Swimming up from sleep, the fur covers brush against me as I stretch against his chest. He breathes evenly in his sleep, and I breathe with him. His arms are wrapped around me, and his legs push up against my feet. I am surrounded.

I lie still in the darkness of the Henneth Annun cave. We've been here now for three nights. Two of his men keep watch of the surrounding area, but they stay out of sight and we feel completely alone. That's what he said he wanted--to get me away from everyone. It's what I wanted, too.

He grew impatient during the long evenings at the Field of Cormallen when I would be surrounded by the fellowship. There was so much to talk about, I was overwhelmed by it all. I would look across the table to where he sat quietly watching me and waiting until he could have me alone in our tent. He tried to hide his impatience, but it pulled me to him in slow waves.

He smells of clean sweat from our lovemaking mixed with wood smoke and fragrant Ithilien herbs. His scent goes to my head like red wine cool on my tongue that warms as it slips down my throat.

The wanting rises in me--never really stops any more, just rests beneath the surface before waking again. It kindles in my belly and spreads outward until it curls my fingers around his wrist. Twisting around, I rub my face against his neck.

Waking, he laughs softly. "Again? So soon? I thought I'd wear you out, not the other way round. I had not heard hobbits were so demanding."

I catch his lower lip in my mouth and tug lightly with my teeth.

"It bites, does it?"

I kiss him full on the mouth and slide my lips smoothly against his. My tongue stroking the soft insides of his cheeks makes him gasp as the wanting rises up in him.

It surprised me at first that I had the power to make him shake with desire, that my body did that to him. I love to watch him when he arches high above me and spreads my thighs wide to bury himself deep inside me. His gray eyes darken until it's too much and they close tight.

Clasping my hands behind his neck, I try to pull him on top of me, but he'll have none of it. Instead, I find myself lying on top of him. His hands roughly slide up and down my back, stopping to squeeze my buttocks. I never tire of his hands on me. Sometimes they are gentle as though he's afraid of bruising me. Now they press hard and make my skin flush where they have touched me.

He pushes himself up and leans against the wall. I lay back against his raised knees, nipples tingling from his circling palms. Falling against his chest, I suckle his wound. If he feels the poison in him again, I will draw it out and take it into myself.

He reaches for the little flask of oil. I didn't know what it was for when he took it out the first night we spent in his tent.

"You're too small though you don't complain. The oil will make it easier for you."

"I don't need it, I'm fine without it."

"No, you're not. It hurts you, I know it does."

"Just a little at first. It passes quickly."

"Hush. Turn over."

He was right, it did help. There was nothing but the pleasure of him stretching me open when he entered me, little pinpricks that turned to a quick pulsing as I closed round the long shaft and held him fast.

He strokes my buttocks lightly and runs his fingers between them, parting my cheeks and tipping the flask so that the oil drips on to me. I shiver as he massages it into me, moan when fingers push deep.

Sliding against the ridge of his stiff cock, I rock back and forth, savoring his length spreading my oil-slick cheeks until the tip of him strains at my opening. I brace myself for the thick invasion, but he doesn't move.

"Please ... please ..."

"You do it."

I push a little, and the head disappears into me. Quickly, I pull away, and he groans. Another push--a little harder--and he's in me again. He holds tightly to my buttocks to stop me from withdrawing again. I press down until he fills me completely with a long smooth slide that reaches every fiber of my body. Laying still, I am faint with the fullness of him in me this new way, tight ring of muscle fluttering around him. Our testicles press together, a soft cushioning that shoots sparks up my spine and makes me squirm.

"Move."

I can't move, not yet, want to hold the taut fullness a little longer. It feels different this way. I like it.

"Frodo ... please ..."

Hands move restlessly over my back and neck, grip my hair. He sighs and lays still, acquiescent to my mood but with body tensed.

I draw myself from my reverie and begin to move. Hands push at my chest, suspending me above him. This control is new to me. Always before, he's been the one in control of our movement, whether he's spread me on my back or taken me from behind.

I slide up and down slowly, his cock clinging to my flesh. Someone moans--it's me. His fingers stroke where we are joined. I move faster, wanting ... more. He is molten metal inside me, a hot knife through butter. Holding my buttocks, he twists me round him. Sensation exploding from the twisting friction, I cry out and fall on to his chest, thrusting hard and fast. My own erection is near to bursting and drips liquid.

"Faramir! Please ... touch me ... please ..."

His hand is between us, stroking and squeezing. Knees trembling, I try to hold back a little longer, want it to go on. No good. Hand around me and cock inside me, my seed spurts in a milky pool on his belly.

Restraint abandoned, his hips raise off the bed as he pumps into me.

"Come ... come now ..."

One last thrust and he comes screaming my name, arms like iron bands around me stopping my breath. His cock jerks inside me, and his semen floods me.

Reaching his head to mine, he covers my face and neck with kisses as we float in the warm bath of our release.

All is quiet again in the warm darkness of our bed. He draws the soft fur around us, and we sink back into our sleep. He is mine, my own, and I'll not be without him again.


	7. Purple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written a couple of years after all the other parts after an LJ discussion of what is purple prose and I couldn't resist getting as purple as I could manage. Er, that is, even more purple than the other parts. This part also includes a little Elijah/David Wenham.

From Merriam-Webster On-line Dictionary

Main Entry: 1pur•ple   
Pronunciation: 'p&amp;r-p&amp;l  
Function: adjective  
Inflected Form(s): pur•pler /-p(&amp;-)l&amp;r/; pur•plest /-p(&amp;-)l&amp;st/  
Etymology: Middle English purpel, alteration of purper, from Old English purpuran of purple, genitive of purpure purple color, from Latin purpura, from Greek porphyra  
1 : REGAL, IMPERIAL  
2 : of the color purple  
3 a : highly rhetorical : ORNATE b : marked by profanity

 

* * *

There were purple stains beneath his eyes when I first met him, as though he hadn't slept in comfort and safety in many days. I think that was it actually—the honest look in his eyes with their dark rings of exhaustion—which made me look a little deeper into who he was. Why he was here with his servant, how they had managed to come so far from their northern home with so little resources to hand (at least at first look).

Yes, it was the dark smudges beneath his eyes that stayed my hand against what I was ordered to do to all strangers who came into Ithilien in those days.

* * *

My cock was so hard it was wine dark, I was sure of it. And all it had taken was his moving close to me for warmth. Just a little warmth, and what violet fire burst from that!

* * *

You are supposed to see red when a fit of jealousy overtakes you, or so I'd heard and read though I had no personal experience of it. But it was purple that I saw when he told me of what he'd done with Sam, and it covered my vision completely, inside and out. Like when you're at table and hear something that startles you so suddenly that, before you know it, your hand jerks and knocks over a pitcher of wine. And then you can't stop it, at least not at first. You can't stop the red wine spilling over and soaking into the white cloth on the table until there is no trace of the linen's original color.

But it was cold, you see. The red of jealousy is hot, or so I had heard, but I went cold, and all I saw was crusted with purple ice.

Then he melted it all while we lay together, sick with pleasure, as though we'd taken a basket of ripe figs and gorged and gorged and gorged until the fruit burst sticky sweet over every inch of our bodies.

* * *

The purple stains beneath his eyes were almost gone when I saw him after he completed his task. Oh, he was too pale and thin, and there was his hand, his poor injured hand. But the tired rings around his eyes were faded.

I brought the purple back to him. I took him back to Henneth Annun, and I brought the purple back to him, though this time it was warm and living and welcome.

He bent smiling over me as I lay pinned to the furs, and I saw the purple marks on his throat.

* * *

"What is this?" Frodo asked, laughing and running his hands over the purple velvet cover on the bed.

"Oh," I answered, trying to sound as offhand as I could. "The old cover was, well, not fit to be lain on."

"Hm," he said as he climbed onto the bed. "Well, it is terribly soft, but it does seem awfully grand for a hobbit to sleep on. I don't think I should feel quite right."

I was going to respond with a "Please humor me ..." when he turned round and grinned at me. But it was the sparkle in his eyes that told me he'd seen through my little story of old bed covers.

"Shall I have it taken away, then?" I said in my best husky voice though with little fear that he would agree. Not when I saw how he rubbed his cheek against the velvet. He liked it too.

* * *

"What are you looking at?" Elijah jumped a little when I asked him that. Then, when I saw what he was reading—something extremely pornographic on the Internet about hobbits and big manly men—he did have the grace the blush. "So you'll read porn when you can't be bothered to read the source text? No wonder you're blushing."

What he said to that is quite unrepeatable, so for a minute I just leaned over his shoulder and read along with him. Just to let him cool down a bit though perhaps "cool" wasn't quite the right way to say it.

After a minute, I said, "Rather purple, isn't it?"

"Yeah, just like your cock."


End file.
